December comes quietly as a late guest to the party. It slips into Maine after the splendor and flourishes of Autumn’s color with its ice-covered puddles and frosty brown leaves. The December Dawn takes her time, while her sister Dusk hangs over the sleepy Kennebec. She smiles sidelong, passing the vanities of her mirror channels and goes to bed early. December marks the changing of the seasons, and therefore, the passage of time. She is a reluctant lover, rich with memories of snowfall, glitter laden sentiment and the empty spaces of faces and places lost. December is the last waltz of the ball with her cheeky kiss as promise of the New Year ahead. She whispers on her careless way of faith, new life and salvation already germinating beneath her winter snows.